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Parsha Perspectives: Vayishlach-Developing a Healthy Sense of Self

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You can only run for so long. At some point the reality of our circumstances catch up with us. Yaakov knew the day would come when he would have to face his brother, Esav. Would Esav be seething with anger or had he moved on?  Could Yaakov and Esav rehabilitate their relationship or would they simply go their own ways? We could only imagine that these questions were on Yaakov’s mind the night before this fateful encounter. The Torah describes that after Yaakov crossed his family over the Jordan River, he found himself all alone, “va’yivaser Yaakov l’vado”. It was at this moment that he was attacked by the ish (man), (Rashi identifies this “man” as the ministering angel of Esav). They wrestled with one another throughout the night. Yaakov was injured but managed to stand his ground and kept his adversary restrained until morning. When the sun rose, the ish requested that Yaakov release him, “And he (the angel) said, ’Let me go, for dawn is breaking,’ but he (Jacob) said, ’I will not let you go unless you have blessed me.’ So he said to him, ’What is your name?’ and he said, ’Jacob.’  And he said, ‘Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Yisrael, because you have commanding power with [an angel of] God and with men, and you have prevaile.d”’ (Genesis 32:27-29)

This exchange is perplexing on several levels. Firstly, why is the ish asking Yaakov his name? After all, the angel targeted Yaakov and they had been struggling with one another throughout the night. Secondly, it would appear that Yaakov’s name is changed twice, once in the above-mentioned verse and a second time when God appears and says: “’…your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Yisrael shall be your name.’ And He named him Yisrael.” (Genesis 35:10)  Why was the second name change necessary?

The Torah (Genesis 2:20) states that Adam named each of the animals. The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabba Chukas 19:3) relates that after Adam finished this important task, God approached him and asked, “…and you, what is your name? He (man) responded, ‘Adam, because I was created from the earth (adama).’”  Man named each of the animals based on the qualities and characteristics he perceived in them. When God asked man, “What is your name?” He was asking, “How do you perceive yourself?” And man answered, “I am from the earth.” This was not a statement of origin; it was a statement of identification. Adam identified with the earth. Adam failed to realize that the root of his name is also the same root as the Hebrew word adameh (I will resemble). Man has a choice – he can view himself as resembling the dirt or he can view himself as resembling his Maker and Creator. He can choose to identify with the earth, or he can choose to identify with the heavens. The choice is his.

A name captures the essence of an individual. When the angel asked Yaakov, “Mah sh’mecha (what is your name)?” he was asking Yaakov, “How do you view yourself?  What do you see when you look in the mirror?” Yaakov responded, “I am Yaakov. I am the one who was trampled on (the root of the name Yaakov is eykev, heel), I am the one who is always running; I am the one who is unable to face others (he runs away from home and later from Lavan to avoid conflict).”  The ish says, “Yaakov you are mistaken. Your name is no longer Yaakov, you don’t have to run, you don’t have to fear; your name is Yisrael, ki sarisa (you are a master), you have struggled but you are still standing. You have fought with both angel and man and have stood your ground. You lived in Lavan’s home, a spiritually hostile environment for over two decades and yet, you remained true to your Abrahamitic values. You wrestled an angel into submission. You don’t have to grab at anyone’s heel; you don’t have to flee in the face of adversity. You are Yisrael. Find the confidence to face your demons, find the confidence to confront your challenges, find the strength to see how much you have grown.”

The angel did not change Yaakov’s name. In fact, Rashi explains that the angelic ish was foreshadowing what would occur later when God changes Yaakov’s name to Yisrael. The ish gave Yaakov important advice. “The only way you will be successful in life is if you begin to view yourself in a different light. You have so much potential, you possess so much holiness, but your self-perception is preventing you from seeing it.”

Too often we fail to achieve, progress and grow because we have given up on ourselves, we feel unworthy. We are acutely aware of our faults and shortcomings and assume that we cannot achieve greatness. We assume we are adama and therefore, lower our expectations of ourselves. We must always remember that we are the Children of Israel; we are the people who strive for adameh. Let us find the strength to see the good, the beauty and the holiness that resides within.

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Parsha Perspectives: Vayeitzei-Finding and Forgetting

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“And Jacob awakened from his sleep, and he said, ‘Indeed, the Lord is in this place, and I did not know [it].’” (Genesis 28:16)

Yaakov Avinu experienced a most incredible dream. He had seen God perched on top of a ladder which extended to the heavens; he had seen the angels climbing up and down and had received a promise of security, safety and success from the Master of the Universe. Yaakov was not expecting such a revelation and so he awoke startled, “this is clearly a holy and special place, and I did not know.” The simple interpretation is that Yaakov was unaware of its holiness. Rashi explains that the dream took place on Mount Moriah, the site of Akeydas Yitzchak (the binding of Isaac) and the future site of the Temple. Yaakov remarks to himself, “Had I known this was such a holy and significant place, I would have never allowed myself to fall asleep here.”

The great Chassidic master, Rav Yisroel of Chortkov (1854-1934) explains Yaakov’s statement a bit differently.

“Acheyn yesh Hashem ba’makom hazeh (God is present, can be felt and experienced in this place.)”

“Va’anochi lo yadati” – I stopped focusing on anochi (myself). I did not know myself.

Yaakov ventured far away from the comforts of his familial home because he knew he had something great to accomplish. He understood that there was a magnificent destiny waiting to be seized and actualized. But it would not be easy, it would not be comfortable, it would require great sacrifice. Yaakov placed his self-interests on the backburner to maximize his life potential. Yaakov stopped focusing on anochi (myself) and instead focused his efforts on what God wanted from him. When he was able to subvert the anochi, he was able to acutely experience and feel the presence of God: “Indeed the Lord is in this place.”

Often, we experience conflict on communal and personal levels. In our communal lives, there is often a tension between what I want as an individual versus what is best for the community (whether this is the community of a Shul, school or organization). Too much strife occurs when we allow our personal interests to interfere with what is good for the collective. The only way to bring holiness into our communal lives is through “Va’anochi lo yadati,” putting our personal interests on the side and focusing on the needs of the tzibur (group). As individuals we experience this conflict as well. Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzatto (1707-1746) writes in his introduction to Mesillas Yesharim (Path of the Just) that a person must ask himself, “What does God want of me?” This is in contradistinction to the question we often ask ourselves, “What do I want out of life?” There are times when what I want for myself and what God wants from and for me are in conflict. Yaakov had this conflict as well. One would have to imagine that Yaakov would have much preferred to remain at home, build his family in the Land of Canaan and be with his parents as they grew old. But deep down, Yaakov knew that God wanted something different for him and his communal impact. Deep down Yaakov knew that destiny awaited, and it was across the river in a foreign land with hostile inhabitants. Yaakov put aside his anochi and found God.

There are times in life when the plan we have for ourselves is dramatically different than the plan God has for us. In these most humbling moments, we must find the strength to put aside the anochi of our personalistic self-interests and embrace the destiny God has waiting for us. If we can summon the strength to do so, we too will be able to say, “Acheyn yesh Hashem ba’makom hazeh” – I will feel the presence of God guiding and holding me everywhere I go and in every step I take.

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Parsha Perspectives: Toldos-Trading Places

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“Now Jacob cooked a pottage, and Esau came from the field, and he was faint. And Esau said to Jacob, ‘Pour into [me] some of this red, red [pottage], for I am faint’; he was therefore named Edom.” (Genesis 25:29-30)

Esav returned from a long day of hunting and found his brother Yaakov preparing lentils. He was overwhelmed by hunger and agreed to sell his birthright for a bowl of “pottage.” This episode is apparently so important and pivotal that it solidified Esav’s identity. “Al keyn kara shemo Edom (he Esav was therefore named Edom)” and therefore, his offspring become known as Edom (red) as well. How are we to understand this? Why is Esav’s identity forged by this episode? What is the significance of these lentils?

The Midrash (Bereishis Rabba 63:13) explains that mourners would customarily consume lentils as part of their meal during the mourning period. Rashi elaborates and explains that the roundness of the lentil represents the cycle of life, of which death is a part. Avraham had passed away. Yaakov was preparing the mourner’s meal of lentils for his father, Yitzchak. The Midrash relates that when Esav came home and saw Yaakov cooking lentils, he asked Yaakov, “’What is the meaning of this food (i.e. why are you cooking this particular item)?’ He (Yaakov) responded, ‘The Elder (Avraham) has died.’ He (Esav) responded, ‘If strict justice has been visited upon the Elder, there is no justice, there is no judge’.” 

It appears from this Midrash that Esav was outraged over Avraham’s death. Esav felt that Avraham’s righteousness and dedication to God should have allowed him to escape this final decree.

The Beis HaLevi (Rav Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik, 1820-1892) finds this Midrash difficult. Did Esav expect that his grandfather would live forever? Avraham was 175 years old and had led a good, meaningful and full life. How are we to understand Esav’s indignation over Avraham’s death?

The Beis HaLevi explains that Avraham had passed down many important ideas and ideals to his family. He shared with them his vision for spreading monotheism, love of God and respect for the other. He explained that God’s blessing would accompany them throughout life and their small family would blossom into a great and magnificent nation. But it would not be all blessing, bliss and happiness. Avraham shared with them the difficulties and turbulent times that his children and descendants would have to face and endure. He explained that God had told him how his descendants would be “strangers in a strange land and they will be worked and afflicted for four hundred years.” Avraham knew (and shared with his children) that the years ahead would be filled with much grief and challenge. Esav understood that as the first born, he stood to inherit the Abrahamitic mantle. With this mantle would come all the blessings, but he and his descendants would have to shoulder all the challenges as well. Esav did not want this burden, Esav did not want this responsibility, Esav did not want this destiny. But he couldn’t just say, “I’m not interested” as that would look cowardly and show a lack of commitment. Instead, he used Avraham’s death as a pretext to claim that there is no order or justice in this universe and therefore, he wanted no part of this tradition. Esav was willing to part with his birthright for a bowl of lentils, not out of a love for lentils or because he was famished. He was willing to give up his destiny for a bowl of lentils because he was looking for an out; he was looking for some way to escape responsibility. The death of Avraham and the bowl of lentils gave him his excuse to throw off the yoke of destiny and free himself of Abrahamitic responsibility.

Esav is known as Edom, after the redness of the lentils for which he sold his destiny. This was his fundamental flaw – he created a fictional reality that would allow him to escape responsibility.

It is normal to be overwhelmed and sometimes even frightened when taking on new responsibilities. There are times when we know what we want to do, we know what we want to be, but when we see all the work and effort it entails, when we see the potential for failure, we want to run the other way. All too often, we run from our destiny, we avoid taking responsibility and in order to justify these decisions we create alternate realities for ourselves. We tell ourselves that certain accomplishments are beyond reach, because this exempts us from trying. We tell ourselves that we cannot change, because then we feel no pressure to become more. We convince ourselves that the aspirations, goals and dreams we once held so dear aren’t really that beautiful and noble. We give up beautiful life opportunities for mere bowls of lentils. Many of us consume the lentils of life excuses at regular intervals. The lentils may fill your stomach, but they leave your soul empty and wanting.

We have an awesome responsibility as individuals and as a people to accomplish great things. Our futures are a combination of beautiful blessings and incredible challenges. If we retreat because of the challenges, we will never experience the blessing. We must remember that we are the descendants of Yaakov. We embrace the holiness, destiny and opportunities that others so quickly discard.

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Parsha Perspectives: Chayei Sarah-Wise Waters

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Finding a suitable marriage partner has always been a challenge. To find a partner whom you could love, cherish and build a life with is no small task. To find someone who shares your ideals and beliefs can be challenging. For Yitzchak the challenge was compounded in that he was surrounded by idolaters. Avraham and Sarah began their journey together. They found God and grew together. Yitzchak, their physical and spiritual progeny would have to find someone who would help him continue to build what his parents had started. Avraham tasked Eliezer with finding a wife for Yitzchak and sent him back to Avraham’s ancestral homeland.  Avraham provided explicit instructions on the parameters – the young woman must come from his extended family. Eliezer set out, arrived in Aram Naharaim and devised the following plan:

And he said, “O Lord, the God of my master Abraham, please cause to happen to me today, and perform loving kindness with my master, Abraham. Behold, I am standing by the water fountain, and the daughters of the people of the city are coming out to draw water. And it will be, [that] the maiden to whom I will say, ‘Lower your pitcher and I will drink,’ and she will say, ‘Drink, and I will also water your camels,’ her have You designated for Your servant, for Isaac, and through her may I know that You have performed loving kindness with my master.” (Bereishis 24:12-14)

Although Avraham never told Eliezer what qualities to look for, Eliezer intuitively understood that the next matriarch must possesses the attribute of chessed, kindness. If she is so kind that she responds to the request of a stranger for a drink and then offers to water the entire flock of camels – she is indeed righteous and kind enough to be the wife of Yitzchak and join the Abrahamitic dynasty.

We know that chessed is exceptionally important.  As the Mishna states:

The world stands on the three things, on Torah, on Avoda (sacrificial service and prayer) and on Gemilus Chasadim (kindness and the performance of charitable acts).” (Ethics of our Father 1:2)

Chessed is one of the pillars which supports the world and humanity. But would this value of chessed require a young woman to water a flock of camels? Let’s assume Eliezer brought with him at least 3 camels. A camel can drink up to 20 gallons at a time, that would be 60 gallons. This would have required Rivkah to run back and forth to the well multiple times – was this a fair expectation? Even in the realm of chessed we find limitations. We are obligated to be charitable, yet, one is not permitted to give away more than 1/5 of one’s wealth for fear of impoverishing one’s self. There are limitations even on kindness.  Furthermore, the text never records that Rivkah performed this incredibly selfless act of watering the flock. How are we to understand this strange “test” devised by Eliezer?

The Beis HaLevi (Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik 1820-1892) explains that Eliezer was not only looking for a Baalas Chessed, he was looking for someone who would perform chessed with wisdom. In life, it is not enough to the do the right thing – one must do the right thing in the right way. When Eliezer went up to Rivka and asked her for a drink, he wanted to see what she would do with the remaining water in the jug. To take the rest of the water home to her family would be irresponsible (after all she did not know the identity of this stranger) but to spill out the remaining water would be an affront to this stranger. How did Rivka manage this situation? After she offered Eliezer to drink, she then offered the remainder of the water to his camels (she did not offer to water the entire flock – just to provide the camels with the remaining water in the jug). This was the “test” devised by Eliezer and it was this test that Rivkah passed with flying colors. Rivkah knew how to do Chessed with Chochma (kindness with wisdom).

There are times when we try to help another but forget to be sensitive to the needs of the other. Chessed doesn’t simply mean the performance of good deeds – rather, it means the performance of good deeds in a sensitive fashion. There are times when people need help but feel awkward accepting it. There are times when people need assistance but can’t ask for it and sometimes can’t acknowledge it when it is received.

People are complex, we are complex and when helping another we must think not only of the act of chessed but how the act can be packaged in order to preserve the dignity of self-respect of the other.

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Parsha Perspectives: Vayera-Multi-Tasking

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“Now the Lord appeared to him in the plains of Mamre, and he was sitting at the entrance of the tent when the day was hot. And he lifted his eyes and saw, and behold, three men were standing beside him, and he saw, and he ran toward them from the entrance of the tent, and he prostrated himself to the ground.” (Genesis 18:1-2)

Avraham, just a few days post-circumcision, waits outside his tent eager to find guests to invite into his home. The Ish Ha’Chessed, this man who embodies kindness and selflessness, cannot focus on his own pain and discomfort, rather he seeks to transcend his personal circumstances in an effort to give to others. Alas, there are no guests to be found. It is hot and all have sought shelter from the blistering sun. God summons three angels and Avraham runs to greet them. But these angels are not simply sent to allow Avraham to fulfill the mitzvah of hachnosas orchim (hospitality); they each have a mission. One angel is sent to announce the birth of Yitzchak, another to heal Avraham and one to destroy the city of Sodom. Why couldn’t God simply send one angel to accomplish all three tasks?  Rashi explains, “for one angel cannot perform multiple tasks.”

The Lubavitcher Rebbe (Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, 1902-1994) makes a subtle, yet profound observation. Herein lies the fundamental distinction between man and angel. An angel can only do one thing. An angel can only have one mission and when it finishes that mission, its existence is complete. An angel can’t pivot or change. An angel can’t decide to do something different than the intended purpose for which it was created. “One angel cannot perform multiple tasks or agencies” – why? Because angels are incapable of transformation. Their existence, while exalted and holy, is one-dimensional and limited. But we can change, we can pivot. We can embark down one path in life and upon realizing that it is incorrect can change course. We can make mistakes and then correct them. We can begin one task then choose to do and to be something else. Angels are holy but we are even holier.

There are times when we realize that something is broken or flawed within us. I know that there are things I must change, but I soothe myself with the excuse of “this is who I am.” From the words of the Rebbe we see that only angels can use that excuse, man cannot. Angels can say “this is who I am” for they are truly limited, one-dimensional beings who can only perform the particular task for which they were created. But we can be who we choose to be. We can change, transform, reinvent, and remake. Unlike angels we must face adversity and challenge and at times as a result of our life difficulties we become hardened and resistant to change. Let us remember, God had to send three angels to accomplish three distinct tasks, yet one Avraham Avinu was able to effect so much change all on his own.

The power of change is an awesome gift, may we find the courage and strength to use it wisely.

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Parsha Perspectives: Lech Lecha-Pruning and Plowing

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Rabbi Levi said, when Avraham was travelling in Aram Naharaim, he saw people eating, drinking and engaging in a hedonistic lifestyle. Avraham said, “I do not want a portion in this land.” When he came to the mountains of Tzur (and peered into the Land of Israel) he saw people pruning and plowing. He said, “I truly hope I receive a portion in this land.” God then said to Avraham, “I have given this land to your offspring.”  (Midrash Rabbah 39:8)

Rav Kalonymos Kalman haLevi Epstein (1751-1823), in his work titled Maor V’Shemesh, provides an incredible insight into this midrash. Avraham was wandering the world looking for meaning. He was looking for answers to the questions which filled his soul. How do I find greatness? What is my purpose? He looked around and saw people focused on momentary, fleeting pleasures. Eating good food and drinking fine wine is wonderful as long as it doesn’t become the centerpiece of existence. And so, he traveled on, looking for meaning. Avraham came to the Land of Israel. When he gazed upon the land from the surrounding mountains, he saw farmers pruning and planting. In this moment, Avraham had the life epiphany he had been waiting for. Man is like the field. A field needs to be plowed for beautiful vegetation to grow. So too, man must plow his personalistic field with Torah, mitzvos, chesed and dynamic spiritual activity in order to create the beautiful fruit of holy identity. Meaningful living requires us to engage in constant and consistent plowing. But you can only plant if the weeds are first removed from the field.

There are two dimensions to the weeds of life. The weeds represent the negative traits, behaviors and aspects of our life-style. We can ignore the weeds, but they won’t go away. We can try to look away, but they will just grow taller. To really engage in meaningful and dynamic spiritual plowing we must first remove the weeds that stand in our way. It is difficult and often unpleasant to remove the weeds of life but failure to do so renders the field of potential accomplishment un-useable.

There is another dynamic as well. Sometimes, the things we plant don’t “grow” as we had expected. Although, I used the right seed, provided water, sunlight and nutrients, the plant just didn’t take. It is in those moments that I must prune and uproot the non-viable plant in order to clear the field for something better. There are times in life when we “plant” an initiative, idea or course of action and it just doesn’t take root. Don’t be afraid to start again. Don’t be afraid to pull out the plant despite having spent so much time and energy in planting it. Pruning is an indispensable part of personal growth. There are some things we will do that will work and others that will fail. Don’t let the failed attempts sit and wither in your field. Bend down, prune, pull out the failed plant and start again. Starting again can be frightening and fraught with anxiety but if we want to maximize the productivity of our fieldw, it is a necessity.

We must remove the weeds that hold us back and remove the growths which have failed to mature and materialize. It is only when we clear the field of the failed growth and weeds that we can plant something beautiful.

Avraham wandered looking for meaning and answers. The answers he found are the ones which guide us to this very day. Life is all about pruning and planting. God has given each of us beautiful fields of potential and it is our privilege to farm them properly.

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Parsha Perspectives: Noach-Don’t Slam the Door

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“When Noach left the ark, he fell to his knees and began to sob upon seeing the complete destruction of the world. He turned to God and said, ‘Master of the Universe, where was Your compassion, where was Your mercy? You should have exhibited greater compassion to Your creations?’ God responded, ‘Foolish shepherd, when I told you to build the ark, you should have advocated for humanity. When I told you that you were righteous, I was telling you that you had the power to make a difference. Yet, when it began to rain, you entered the ark with your family and closed the door on humanity. And now you ask about my lack of compassion?’” (Zohar, Noach 39:1)

A powerful conversation: Noach wondering what happened to the compassion of God and God wondering what happened to the compassion of Noach. There are many sources which highlight Noach’s lack of advocacy for his generation. It is easy to categorize Noach as self-centered and lacking compassion for the plight of the other. But this approach has always bothered me. After all, the Torah calls Noach a Tzaddik, a righteous man, a term that neither God nor the Torah use lightly. If so, how do we understand Noach’s behavior? Why didn’t he try to save the generation and lobby God on their behalf? Why didn’t he try to intercede and prevent the cataclysmic destruction of humanity?

The great Chassidic master, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810) provides an incredible insight:

“Noach was completely righteous, he did not comprehend the ability to leave his righteous state, engage with the wicked and raise them up. He did not understand his ability to pray for them, help them discover their spark of goodness and holiness and allow them to rebuild.” (Likutei Halachos, Shabbos 7:69)

Noach didn’t believe in change. Noach thought that the world had two different types of people – the righteous and the wicked. Once you chose a team, you had a lifetime contract. When Noach looked at his wicked neighbors he saw people who were broken beyond repair. Their only hope would have been God’s mercy and compassion. When God told him to build the ark, for He was going to destroy the world, Noach said “ok.” There was nothing to do, only God could save the day. And so, upon disembarking from the ark, Noach wags an accusatory finger at God and asks, “Where was your mercy?” God proceeds to explain to Noach his profound mistake. “People make bad choices and at times do terrible things, but they never lose the ability to change. Noach, had you believed in humanity’s capacity for change you could have gone out to the masses and taught them the error of their ways and the path to salvation. You could have inspired them and encouraged them to be more. But you didn’t. I told you of My plans, you accepted My words, built the ark and closed the door behind you.”

The Rebbe provides us a powerful perspective on the Parsha and on life. Noach was a pious and righteous man who didn’t understand the profound, cathartic power of change. At times, we too make the same mistake, assuming that who we are is who we will always be. Change is the most incredible gift given to us by God Himself. The ability to invent and reinvent oneself as many times as needed is a treasure, privilege and obligation. Humanity was lost because no one believed in the power of change. We must learn this lesson and remember that we each have the power to transform. Whether one need to change a behavior, a perspective, a relationship or a way of life – the power rests in our hands. May we find the courage and strength to use it wisely.

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Parsha Perspectives: Bereishis-Let it Be Good

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The Torah provides us with the rules, laws and framework through which to live a fully actualized life. The mitzvos are an expression of Divine will designed to help us attain personal holiness. Yet, this all-important Book of Laws doesn’t begin with instructions or commandments; it begins with a story. Not just any story. The story of creation.

We are told in great detail what God created on each day, culminating with Divine rest on Shabbos. It is a story we all know, yet, cannot comprehend. What is a “day” in the eyes of God? What does it mean to “create something from nothing?” Why include a story which the human mind cannot totally grasp and understand?

It is quite simple, actually. God teaches us how He built His world so that we may use the same strategies to build our own. We are each creators of our personal worlds. While it is true that we cannot choose so many of our circumstances, we create our reactions, we create relationships and we create many different realities. There are deep lessons embedded in the Genesis narrative that we can use to fashion and create meaningful lives and meaningful worlds.

“And God said, ‘Let there be an expanse in the midst of the water, and let it be a separation between water and water.’ And God made the expanse and it separated between the water that was below the expanse and the water that was above the expanse, and it was so. And God called the expanse Heaven, and it was evening, and it was morning, a second day.” (Bereishis 1:6-8)

The commentaries point out the glaring omission – this verse omits “and God saw all that He did, and it was good (ki tov).”

Rashi explains:

Now why does it not say, “that it was good” on the second day? Because the work involving the water was not completed until the third day, although He commenced it on the second day, and an unfinished thing is not in its fullness and its goodness; and on the third day, when He completed the work involving the water and He commenced and completed another work, He repeated therein “that it was good” twice (sic): once for the completion of the work of the second day and once for the completion of the work of that [third] day. — [Gen. Rabbah 4:6]

The verse is indicating that success is measured by results, not just effort. But this verse is describing God. God only says, “ki tov” (it was good) when the job is done, for He controls the results. Man says “ki tov” every time he expends the necessary effort. Although we are made in the image of God, we do not use the same metric for success. God’s success is measured by results, our success is measured by effort. There are many times in life when we try and fail. We have dreams and aspirations and despite herculean effort, they never materialize. We take on initiatives and projects and we find ourselves unable to carry through. In those moments, we lament the failure, wasted time and resources. But it is in those very moments of perceived failure that we must remember that any time we try, we succeed. “I am a creator. In my world, ‘ki tov’ is the phrase that describes meaningful effort. If I try to make my dreams a reality, if I expend the energy to move myself forward, I have created a ‘ki tov’ moment. I am not God, I can’t control the results, I can’t guarantee success, but I can always guarantee maximum effort.”

As we enter this beautiful and incredible new year, we each begin to create new worlds. For some we must deconstruct old worlds to make room for the new, others we’ll build and add to already existing worlds. Let us remember that our ultimate legacy is the effort we expend and not the results we attain.

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Parsha Perspectives: Ha’azinu-The Greatest Song of All

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“האזינו השמים ואדברה ותשמע הארץ אמרי פי”

“Listen, O heavens, and I will speak! And let the earth hear the words of my mouth!” (Devorim 32:1)

People relate to music in different ways. Some enjoy slow, melodic tunes which create the inner space for contemplation and introspection. Others enjoy upbeat and fast paced music which allows for a sense of simcha and excitement. Parshas Ha’azinu contains Moshe Rabbeinu’s shira (song).  But this song is neither slow nor fast, instead it is a song of testimony.

As the nation prepares to enter the Land of Israel, Moshe has important information and direction he must share. In this song of Ha’azinu, Moshe reminds the people of their responsibilities to themselves, their nation and their God. The shira is filled with both joy and sadness. Joy over the beautiful connection we have with our Father, and sadness as there are times when we leave, forsake and abandon Him. Despite the valleys and low points of the relationship, our collective heart is always with Hashem and we know that His Divine heart is always with us. The Maharal of Prague and the Maggid of Mezeritch stress the importance of reciting the song of Ha’azinu and knowing it by heart, “for it purifies the mind and heart ….”

Shira is not simply a song, it is one of the most pure and beautiful expressions of love, devotion and commitment. Henry Giles, an English preacher in the mid-1800’s, wrote: “A song will outlive all sermons in the memory.” When there is a need to express something more profound than the simple meaning of spoken words, shira begins where words end.

Why did Moshe choose to deliver his last messages in the form of a shira?

Rabbi Aharon Soloveitchik of blessed memory, in his comments on Shiras HaYam (the song recited by the nation of Israel upon crossing the Red Sea), explains: “Shira is appropriate only when one attains a victory—and to be a victor one must actively participate in the struggle” (The Warmth and the Light, Feldheim, p. 129).

Shira can only be sung when one has accomplished something of epic proportions. Shira is the melodic culmination of man’s work, toil and struggle to accomplish a particular goal. In order to cross the sea, the people had to summon incredible inner strength and belief in themselves and God. After walking into the roaring waves and emerging on the other side they sang shira reflecting their incredible spiritual accomplishment.

Perhaps this is why Moshe chose to conclude his life and begin the next chapter of the Jewish narrative with shira. Moshe told the people: My children, you have triumphed. There were times during our forty-year journey when it looked as if we would not make it. There were times when you wanted to give up; there were times when I felt I could not go on. But you persevered, we persevered, and we stand just mere steps away from the realization of our destiny. You have made it this far, and I know that you can be successful in the future. My happiness and pride are so great that I cannot capture it in words. I choose to express it in shira.

As we stand on the brink of a new year, there are many uncertainties. But one thing is certain: we will face challenges. There will be both national and individual hurdles and obstacles we must traverse. May we find the strength to embrace and overcome our challenges. May we merit to lead lives of spiritual accomplishment. May we find the courage to create the melodic notes of our personal shira.

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Parsha Perspectives: Vayelech/Yom Kippur – Start Dreaming

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If there is one prayer that resonates in the heart of every Jew it is Kol Nidrei. The very tune is haunting yet enchanting, saddening yet uplifting. Yet, when one looks at the words – they seem to be anything but inspirational. Kol Nidrei is a form of Hataras Nedorim, revocation of vows. We begin the holiest day of the year by releasing ourselves from the vows of the past and proactively annulling the vows of the future. On a legal level this is very important as violating one’s vow is considered a severe transgression. We do whatever we can to repent and absolve ourselves of sin as we enter this sacred day. And still, we find ourselves confounded by a basic question: of all the beautiful prayers we have in our liturgy, why begin the holiest day of the year with revocation of vows? There are many prayers with moving words, prayers that capture the true essence of Yom Kippur; prayers that speak to the theme of purity and repentance. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to use some of these prayers as the liturgical introduction to this holy day? Why do we begin with Kol Nidrei? What is the message?

Perhaps, to answer this question we must strive to understand the purpose and power of a neder (vow). The paradigmatic neder is the Nazirite vow. A person takes a vow to abstain from wine and cutting his hair. The Nazir is forgoing certain physical pleasures and choosing to place less emphasis on his “self.” Why would a person do such a thing? The Rabbis explain – because deep down he knows he can be something more, deep down he knows he possesses greatness within but needs the proper framework to extract it. He needs to shift the focus from pleasure seeking to purpose seeking. Sometimes in life we need a push; we need some level of tension to actualize our potential. This is the neder – the binding promise which creates the framework to allow the individual to access his internal reservoir of potential.

To take this one step further, perhaps, the neder can be viewed as a personal aspiration or dream. I know where I am now, and I know where I need to be; the neder is the vehicle to help me bridge the gap. The neder creates a legal reality in which I must actively work to actualize my dream/aspiration. But there is a danger in dreaming – many dreams fail to materialize, many dreams come crashing down, many dreams end in disappointment. When one experiences too many failed dreams, one loses his resolve and courage to dream any more. It is too hard to leave oneself open to hurt and feelings of failure; better to live without dreams than to dream and fail.

This coming Tuesday night when we enter the hallowed sanctity of Yom Kippur, we reflect on last year and realize that many of the things we wanted to do, we didn’t. Many of the dreams we had remain unrealized or worse, ended in failure. And so, the first thing we do on this sacred day is revocation of vows, Hataras Nedorim – we let go of our failed dreams. We let go of the unrealized dreams of last year. We let go because we will not allow ourselves to be burdened by the yolk of failed dreams. Carrying around these failures can be stifling. We let go in order to dream anew.

This is our mandate over Yom Kippur – dream a new dream! Ask yourself, who do I want to be? What do I want my life to look like? What do I need to accomplish? We unburden ourselves in order to fill our hearts and souls with new, magnificent and holy dreams for the coming year.  There is no better, more appropriate way to start this special day than with the recitation of Kol Nidrei.

I hope and pray that we will each find the courage to dream a new dream. Let us hope that God sees the beauty in our dreams and gives us the strength to make them come true.

G’mar Chasima Tova and Good Shabbos

 

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